<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>strength by panderegla</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26336221">strength</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/panderegla/pseuds/panderegla'>panderegla</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Octopath Traveler (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Minor Character Death, Prologue Spoilers, a reimagining of primrose's chapter 1 and how the other travelers meet her</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 02:49:04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,932</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26336221</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/panderegla/pseuds/panderegla</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Strength used to have a simple and straightforward meaning to H’aanit. Strength is the tension in her arm when she pulls back her bowstring, the ache of her well-trained muscles as they endure past their limits, the familiar weight of her axe when she lifts it in her hands before she swings and deals the killing blow.</p>
<p>But now, as she looks at Primrose’s back, she realizes that strength can have many meanings.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Primrose Azelhart/H'aanit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>47</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>strength</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>this one goes out to all you fellow sapphics out there :^) kind of a side story to my <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/series/1849405">alfion series</a> which takes place in the same universe but can also stand alone.</p>
<p>fair warning! there will be spoilers for Primrose's chapter 1, especially concerning the boss fight. Also I'm not entirely sure how graphic the violence is in this fic but i added the warning just in case</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Her name is Primrose and she is a dancer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She is slender and slight, with long arms and legs and a natural beauty and grace that enchants her audience from the moment she starts to move on the stage. When she dances, she is like water, smooth and fluid and free. Yet somehow, one gets the impression that every motion is calculated. Every flick of her wrist, every toss of her chestnut hair, every roll of her hips and every flourish of her hand. Even the flush of her cheeks is a controlled movement, every bead of sweat that drips down from her brow somehow accounted for.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Looking at her under the bright stage lights of the seedy tavern, watching the way she flutters her eyelashes and purses her ruby-red lips, demure and seductive all at the same time, H’aanit does not see a fighter in the traditional sense of the word. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She can’t imagine a bow and arrow in those hands, much less an axe or a greatsword. She sees no scars or bruises on her flawless skin, and were she to feel those hands against her own, the huntress guesses that they’d be soft and free of battleworn callouses. Granted, the dancer is quick and light on her feet, rivalling even fleetfoot Therion himself, but battle is hardly where that talent belongs. It’s clear from the moment H’aanit laid her eyes on her that the stage is where Primrose shines the brightest. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She carries that grace with her even off the stage, flitting from one table to another, smiling graciously at every comment and every dirty pass that is made at her and never once flinching or showing her discomfort, though by the time she reaches their table, something in her smile has grown strained and every word of thanks that leaves her mouth sounds stiff and practiced. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She brushes off Alfyn’s enthusiastic praise with a simple gracious nod, smiles half-heartedly at Tressa’s attempts to convey her amazement into words, and isn’t at all fazed when Cyrus unabashedly takes both of her hands in his and proceeds to compliment her on her “exquisite” form and the “pleasing curves” of her body without showing a hint of embarrassment. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Indeed, the dancer isn’t surprised by Cyrus’ forwardness at all. There is only a tired resignation in her eyes as she nods along to the professor’s words, trying to feign interest. She looks like she can’t wait to get away from this place and H’aanit supposes that she can’t blame her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And then the dancer catches sight of something from over Cyrus’ shoulder and something in her expression changes. Her eyes that till then had looked distant and hollow go wide and stunned, an unnameable expression passing over her face so quickly one could have easily missed it. But H’aanit catches it all the same and it’s so drastic a change that it gives her pause, makes her lower her drink back down to the table to watch the subtle shift in the dancer’s expression. The dancer stops Cyrus mid-sentence and excuses herself in a hurry, pushing past the bodies of drunken patrons waiting to shake her hand and out the tavern doors with a sudden mad fervor that leaves their table staring after her in surprise.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The other travelers are surprised and curious but they put it out of their minds for the time being, assuming that the dancer wasn’t in any immediate danger, and resume their idle chatter. H’aanit wishes that she could forget about it just as easily as the others but in the quiet lapses between their conversations, the huntress finds her thoughts wandering back to the dancer’s face, how her tired eyes had lit up with sudden flame, bright and striking in the tavern’s low lighting.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was like she had become an entirely different person. No longer the pretty, obedient creature that she pretended to be to please her audience. A newfound strength had made itself known in those eyes and perhaps what is most surprising about it is the fact that H’aanit knows that look all too well.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It is the look of a hunter that has finally cornered its prey. It is conviction taken form, a different sort of shine than the one those eyes had while on stage, something that burns as wild and as fierce as a forest fire. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>H’aanit does not know what compels her, if it is the familiarity of that look or the promise of a worthwhile hunt. Or perhaps it is the simple desire to see the dancer again. Whatever the case, it isn’t long after the dancer has left the tavern that H’aanit stands without a word, her axe strapped to her side and her bow and arrows over her shoulder, and leaves the tavern, unaware that Tressa and Ophilia had elected to follow her until their group is outside.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It admittedly takes a while for them to find her, but there is no mistaking the dancer when they see her. Already something about her entire being has changed in the short span of time since they saw her last. There is something in the way she holds herself, something in the line of her shoulders and the subtle arch of her back, the way the blaze in her eyes only seems to have grown stronger.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And it’s that something that compels H’aanit to approach her with Tressa and Ophilia in tow, that drives her to ask the dancer for her name (although she knew it already) and for whatever troubles her, and H’aanit realizes, as Primrose weighs her options and finally relents to asking for their help, that it is strength she sees in those eyes, a kind that she’s only ever seen on a handful of people before. And H’aanit concedes that while she is strong on the stage, there is a much more surprising and much more dangerous strength in Primrose the dancer when the spotlight isn’t trained on her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And it becomes all the more clear when she grips the hilt of her dagger and plunges it deep into Helgenish’s neck, never flinching or shying away from the scarlet blood that spurts out and covers her arms and the fine dancer’s garb she wears.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Helgenish makes a pitiful sound, throat still moving around the sharp steel lodged into it, as his eyes fixate on his killer’s face, stricken wide with shock and almost comical were it not for the fact that he is dying. Still standing on his two feet, Helgenish flails his arms around helplessly, feeble fingers reaching for the dagger embedded in his throat, while his feet stumble around and create a haphazard pattern of footprints on the sand.  He twists and he turns, gurgling up blood as he goes, a sick and laughable dance of death, before his eyes roll to the back of his head and he collapses to the ground, finally motionless.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Quite the dancer yourself in the end.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Primrose’s hair obscures her face from view, so there is no way of telling what expression she wears as she watches the light leave Helgenish’s eyes, as he stops struggling and his limbs fall limp, as she pulls out her dagger in one clean motion and stands there, staring down at his bloated broken body. The hot desert winds pick up, sending sand flying here and there, but Primrose remains unbothered by it all. The dagger falls from her hand, cold and bloody, and lies on the sand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>H’aanit is the first to move. She walks up to Primrose and lays a hand on her shoulder. Primrose moves her head but doesn’t look at her. H’aanit bends down to pick up her dagger, wipes it against her own clothes, then hands it back to Primrose clean and polished. The dancer looks surprised but doesn’t say anything as she takes her dagger and sheathes it against her hip.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you hurt?” Ophilia asks with her staff at the ready, appearing at their side seconds later with Tressa right behind her. Her eyes fall on Helgenish’s bloody corpse and she winces for the briefest second before returning her concerned gaze back to Primrose.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Primrose shakes her head and moves silently past them, stepping right over Helgenish’s body and getting the bottoms of her heeled sandals wet with his blood. It creates a faint crimson trail behind her which disappear beneath the shifting sands just as quickly as they were made as Primrose walks over to where Yusufa’s body lies half buried in the sand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>H’aanit, Ophilia and Tressa all follow at a distance, stopping about six feet away as Primrose halts in front of Yusufa’s body and bends down, arms reaching out and wrapping themselves around her friend’s shoulders and under her knees. Her arms shake as she tries to carry Yusufa herself and she manages to stand on unsteady feet at the very least before she stumbles beneath the weight and is brought back down to her knees. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She doesn’t ask for it and H’aanit sees in her eyes when she approaches that she doesn’t want it, but H’aanit glides forward nonetheless and lifts Yusufa’s body out of Primrose’s arms with ease, holding her gently against her chest as she nods at Primrose, silently bidding her to tell her where she would be lain to rest. Looking down at Yusufa like this, H’aanit could almost fool herself into thinking that she is only asleep.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Primrose doesn’t say anything, simply looks at H’aanit with heavy eyes, devoid now of the fire from earlier, before she points her chin towards the shade of the cliff face and begins walking towards it, the others following close behind.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A cairn is the best we canst doen for her at the moment,” H’aanit says and Primrose nods before she begins gathering the stones for it. H’aanit lays Yusufa gently down on the sand before turning around to help, Ophilia and Tressa already spreading out from their spot to aid in the search. Primrose’s face is a serene mask as she piles the stones around Yusufa’s body, the blood on her skin and her clothes long since dried in the heat of the sun. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Their cairn is sloppy, uneven and looks like it could topple over at the slightest nudge, and they know it’s not the burial Yusufa deserves, but the sun is setting beyond the horizon, turning the unbearable desert heat to intolerable cold, and the more time they spend on it, the more the pained crease between Primrose’s brows becomes apparent. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As soon as it is done, Ophilia has them gather around in front of the cairn to pray. She clasps her hands together and echoes the funeral rites she no doubt heard often in the Flamesgrace cathedral. Beside her, Tressa closes her eyes and looks uncharacteristically solemn as she joins in the prayer. Only H’aanit and Primrose remain staring at the cairn, silent as ghosts as they listen to Ophilia’s gentle voice, calm and comforting and almost musical in the otherwise silent dusk. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can see now why people are so eager to follow you,” Primrose comments afterwards with a small strained smile and the cleric’s face flushes. “I-- Thank you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Without another word, Primrose turns and makes back for Sunshade. She doesn’t look back, not even once, and if she feels any remorse at all for what she’s done, she doesn’t show it in the way she straightens her back, in the way she squares her shoulders and in the way she raises her chin and faces her eyes forward.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Strength used to have a simple and straightforward meaning to H’aanit. Strength is the tension in her arm when she pulls back her bowstring, the ache of her well-trained muscles as they endure past their limits, the familiar weight of her axe when she lifts it in her hands before she swings and deals the killing blow. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But now, as she looks at Primrose’s back, she realizes that strength can have many meanings.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Strength is the way Primrose dances on stage, how she knows exactly where to put her feet and how she keeps dancing even when she’s made a misstep.. It is the sweat that glistens on her skin under the heat of the lights and the steady rhythm of her breathing that almost matches the music she dances to. It is the unwavering conviction in her eyes, the hidden hand around her dagger, the sweet and sultry smile that never betrays the poison lying beneath. It is the assuredness of her steps as she moves over the sand, the movement of one foot going in front of the other again and again and again, taking her ever forward even as bloody stains trail behind her. It is the blood on her body, her own and her enemy’s mingling together indistinguishably, that she refuses to wipe away even now, a testament to the hardships she faced and the ones that will no doubt follow.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As they near Sunshade, H’aanit rushes forward and drapes her cloak over Primrose, hiding the stains on her clothes and arms. Primrose looks up at her in surprise but H’aanit is already drawing away, giving her the space she knows she needs. Or perhaps some part of her is frightened of seeing the expression that Primrose wears. Will it be anger, or sadness, or calm indifference? H’aanit is unsure why it suddenly matters to her, but a part of her is relieved nonetheless when Primrose doesn’t protest and only tugs the cloak closer to herself. And H’aanit supposes that even the simple action of accepting help from someone else is strength as well. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>H’aanit volunteers to take Primrose to their room in the inn. There is nothing for her now in the old dancers’ dormitory where she stayed and Primrose doesn’t look particularly eager to return to the tavern where the men of their party (plus Linde) wait for them. Tressa and Ophilia decide to head for the tavern and assure Primrose that they’ll deal with any questions from the rest of their party.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ophilia reaches out and squeezes the dancer’s hands reassuringly while Tressa loudly declares that she’ll “beat up anyone who even thinks of bothering ya! Even Alfyn! Like I know he’s got good intentions and all but sometimes you just can’t trust him to mind his own business. Am I right or am I right?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This earns her a little chuckle from Primrose who thanks the both of them before she allows herself to be led away by H’aanit. And as H’aanit looks over her shoulder at the departing figures of Ophilia and Tressa, she supposes that there is a hidden strength in them as well. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There is strength in Ophilia’s kindness, in her patient words and reassuring smiles, in the way she reaches out a gentle and unwavering hand and doesn’t flinch even when the hand that grabs it is rough and bloodstained. And there is strength in Tressa’s mere presence, in her wide toothy grin that could brighten up a whole room, and in the way she jokes and draws laughter out of Primrose without stepping over any lines. There is strength in places H’aanit would have never known to look.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Once at the inn, Primrose heads straight for the bathroom, dropping her cloak at a nearby bed and closing the door behind her with a definite slam. Suspecting that Primrose won’t be re-emerging in a while, H’aanit goes down to the front desk and arranges for a hot meal to be brought up for the both of them. Then she leaves for the marketplace with a handful of leaves in her pocket, easily locating the bright stalls that sold garments of various colors. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A few minutes into her endeavor, H’aanit concedes that she’s not very good at picking out clothes, if the part-amused part-condescending smiles that the merchants give her while she’s shopping is anything to go by, and the leaves she brought couldn’t possible pay for even half of one garment. But after much rummaging, she finally finds a simple red dress in the style of the Sunlands that (just barely) fits into her budget and which she’s certain (or at least, hopes) that Primrose could fit into. And she supposes, as she tries to hide her embarrassment from the amused merchant while she’s paying for it, that there is an unusual strength required to pick out clothes for someone as well.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Primrose is drying her hair by the fire when H’aanit returns, still dressed in her dancer’s garb. H’aanit almost doesn’t recognize her with her hair down and her heart does a traitorous skip at the sight of it. But it’s the light purple bruises on Primrose’s skin that make her stop in the doorway for a second. No doubt they had been hidden by makeup before then, now washed away from Primrose’s bath, and H’aanit feels anger surge up from deep within her. A part of her wants to go back to where they had left Helgenish’s corpse to rot just to desecrate it some more but she ultimately swallows the urge, telling herself that he is already getting his due punishment in the afterlife, and forces herself to look away from the bruises as she moves into the room and hands the ball of fabric that is the dress to Primrose. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Here,” H’aanit says and the dancer eyes the fabric curiously, almost distrustfully, before she takes it and unfurls it on the floor in front of her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I took it upon mineself to findeth thee a change of clothes,” H’aanit explains as Primrose begins inspecting the dress closely. “Dost thou findeth it agreeable?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Primrose hums before she looks up at H’aanit and for once her gaze is gentle, a softness in her eyes that makes H’aanit’s face warm up and her chest tighten. “It’ll do just fine. Thank you, H’aanit. But perhaps tomorrow, when I depart Sunshade.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>H’aanit blinks. “Dost thou intendeth to leave Sunshade on the morrow?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” Primrose answers immediately, and the conviction in her eyes has returned. “As soon as I can.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A pause. “I see,” H’aanit says. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Wouldst thou likest to travel with us?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The words stand ready on H’aanit’s tongue, waiting for the opportunity to pass her lips, but the huntress lets them stay there for now. She doesn’t understand why she hesitates now, when there had been none of that reluctance when she offered to help Primrose with her hunt, but she feels almost shy at the prospect of asking Primrose to join them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Perhaps it is simply because of the fact that, save for the business with Helgenish, they are complete strangers to each other still. But their own little band of travelers had started out as virtually strangers, save for the ones who had already been traveling with each other before H’aanit had met them, and even Primrose would have to see the sense of traveling in a group, especially after meeting people like Ophilia and Tressa among them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Or perhaps it is the fact that Primrose doesn’t trust her, even now after she’s helped her. Even now, her eyes follow her with distrust, with a wariness that years of not knowing who to trust has ingrained in her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Or perhaps, it’s because H’aanit was wrong about her. Primrose has proven to her many times today how much of a fighter she really is and H’aanit is ashamed that she ever thought that she wasn’t.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The room descends into an awkward silence and Primrose gazes into the fire, her expression unreadable. Thankfully, H’aanit is saved from having to think of something to say by the arrival of their food which she takes from the server with visible relief. They sit and eat in silence, Primrose on the floor in front of the fire and H’aanit sitting at the edge of her bed. When they are done, H’aanit sends the dishes back down and Primrose announces that she’s going to bed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thou canst taketh mine bed,” H’aanit says, already taking her sleeping pack out of her burlap bag. “I do not minden.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Primrose raises her brows, surprised, but doesn’t protest. “Thank you, H’aanit,” she says before she crawls under the covers, turns over till her back is to H’aanit, then lies motionless beneath the blankets. H’aanit doesn’t mean to stare but she finds that she can’t look away, entranced as she is by the way the brown of Primrose’s hair turns auburn in the firelight, like a flame is trapped within. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then Primrose turns over and H’aanit starts as she realizes that the dancer’s eyes are open and staring back at her. She quickly looks away, turning her gaze towards the fire as embarrassment colors her cheeks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Where dost thou intendeth to travelen after this?” H’aanit asks in an attempt to lighten the atmosphere.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stillsnow,” comes Primrose’s quiet voice after a considerable pause.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>H’aanit raises her brows. “‘Tis a coincidence indeed. I must also maketh mine way to Stillsnow.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s a hum from Primrose. “Any chance we might run into each other again on the way?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>H’aanit chuckles. “T’would be more efficient for us to travelen to Stillsnow together, wouldn’tst thou agree?” There, the words were out. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Primrose doesn’t answer for a long while, then she sighs softly and says, “If you would have me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>H’aanit turns and catches Primrose’s gaze. The dancer doesn’t blink and nothing in her eyes betrays the emotion beneath. Still strong, even after everything that happened that day.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>H’aanit manages a smile and nods her head once. “Thou needest not even ask. Thou hast met Ophilia and Tressa and already they consideren thee one of our own.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Primrose draws in a long breath. “It’s not really them that I’m worried about.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well,” H’aanit begins, picking her words carefully, “if thou art worried about the men of our group, thou hast mine word that they are each of an honorable sort and wouldst not doen thee any harm by intention.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>H’aanit pauses then chuckles wryly. “Although Cyrus dost have the tendency to speaken before he thinkest, as thou must have witnessed at the tavern, and thou might finden Therion...difficult, but they are good men still.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Primrose looks weary and unconvinced, like she has heard countless tales of good men before and found none of them to be true, but she only nods. “I will have to see for myself when I meet them tomorrow.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Aye,” H’aanit says. “It can wait till tomorrow. For now, thou must resten.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay,” Primrose says. H’aanit expects her to close her eyes and go right to sleep but instead she remains staring at the fire behind H’aanit, as if she were deliberately avoiding looking at H’aanit herself. When she finally speaks again, her voice is strained and quiet, almost like a child’s. “I...want to thank you, by the way. For...earlier. For helping me, and for Yusufa.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>H’aanit smiles. “Thinkest nothing of it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Primrose closes her eyes and is motionless once more, this time for good. H’aanit sees the tears forming at the corners of Primrose’s eyes and turns her back on her to face the fire. Occasionally she hears a small sniff but nothing else and H’aanit is both impressed and saddened at how quietly Primrose has taught herself to cry.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And is that strength as well, when she hides her tears and pretends that she’s not crying? When she stifles her sniffing and her sobbing and hides beneath the covers, curling up like a child seeking safety? That even like this, even through everything that she’s been through that day, she still finds it hard to truly let it all out as much as she needs to, as if she doesn’t believe that she deserves to?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>H’aanit is unsure if it can really be called strength but she doesn’t say anything as Primrose cries softly into her pillow, until eventually, the sniffing stops and her body is still beneath her blanket, her face hidden from view. And H’aanit supposes, after all, that there is some strength to be spoken about in being able to keep up the ruse for as long as Primrose has, to be able to appear calm and indifferent even when having to bury a friend. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>H’aanit stays up until she hears the other travelers arrive from the tavern. She hears their footsteps on the stairs, hears the faint unmistakable voices of Tressa, Alfyn and Cyrus, and hears them pause in front of the womens’ room, talking in hushed tones. Then she hears the men retreat into their own room across the hall and the door to the room creaks open as Tressa and Ophilia enter.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh hello, H’aanit,” Ophilia greets her with a smile as Linde slinks past her legs and into the room. “I thought you went to sleep.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>H’aanit shrugs from where she sits cross-legged on her sleeping pack on the floor. Tressa and Ophilia both stop as their eyes alight on Primrose’s sleeping figure on the bed and their steps become more careful and hushed as they walk into the room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Linde bounds into H’aanit arms and the huntress chuckles as she runs her hands through the leopard’s fur. Linde makes a disgruntled little growl and H’aanit responds playfully, “Mine apologies, Linde. But I am sure thou wilt be happy to hearen that we wilt be out of the Sunlands soon.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ugh, me too!” Tressa says, throwing her hat and vest aside as she collapses into her and Ophilia’s shared bed. “I can’t wait to get to the Riverlands. Aelfric knows I need a nice cool swim after this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ophilia chuckles as she picks Tressa’s hat and vest off the floor and places them at the foot of their bed. “I’m sure the others will be glad as well. Alfyn can’t wait to be back home. He says he’ll even give us a tour of Clearbrook if we have the time.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tressa yawns. “I wonder what Clearbrook’s like. Alfyn talks up a storm about it all the time. I’ve got big expectations now,” she says, absentminded, closing her eyes and folding her arms behind her head like a cushion. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sure it’s just as lovely as Alfyn says it is,” Ophilia says as she sits at the edge of their bed, unclasping her cape from her shoulders with a sigh. Her gaze flicks towards Primrose and her expression turns sad. But she quickly quashes it as she finishes taking off her boots, leaving them on the floor as she lifts her legs onto the bed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tressa is asleep in minutes, still fully dressed with her hair in its bun, and Ophilia has to prod her awake to get her to reposition herself so she can fit on the bed. Tressa grumbles and kicks off her shoes carelessly before she shifts to her side, then she’s asleep again in seconds, mouth going slack. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good night, H’aanit,” Ophilia says as she turns down the oil lamp and tucks herself under the covers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good night, Ophilia,” H’aanit says back as she lies back down into her own sleeping pack. Linde curls up against her with a purr and dozes off, her tail swishing against the floor. H’aanit scratches her behind the ears as she gazes off into space, somehow exhausted yet awake at the same time. She realizes only that she fell asleep when she wakes up the next day to the sounds of Tressa’s soft snores and the low muted drone of the Sunshade market outside. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Linde is gone from her side and when H’aanit turns to look she sees the leopard scratching at the closed door of the room with a paw. H’aanit sits up and her eyes immediately fall on Primrose’s empty bed. She is out of her sleeping pack and pulling on her boots in a matter of seconds, making her way to the door and slipping out with Linde at her side.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It doesn’t take long for her to find her. Primrose stands on the balcony at the end of the hall, watching as the sun breaches the ground and begins its slow ascent up into the sky. She is on her guard as soon as she hears H’aanit’s approaching footsteps, her hand going instinctively to her hip where H’aanit knows she keeps her dagger. The tension in her shoulders lightens when she sees that it’s just H’aanit, but it doesn’t leave as H’aanit goes to stand beside her, following her gaze out towards the horizon. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Linde brushes against Primrose’s leg and the dancer jumps as she stares warily down at the snow leopard. H’aanit chuckles, “Thou hast not met Linde. She is mine companion, closer to me than any other friend.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Primrose glances between Linde and H’aanit, eyes wide. “You would take a snow leopard into the Sunlands?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>H’aanit shrugs. “T’was not our decision to make. ‘Tis the quickest way to the Riverlands without circling back from whence we came.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I-I see,” Primrose says, watching anxiously as Linde makes circles around her, sniffing her here and there. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Linde, enough,” H’aanit commands in a firm yet gentle voice. “Do not maken her uncomfortable.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Linde chuffs but backs away from Primrose, circling around to sit by H’aanit’s side. Primrose is still eyeing her curiously but eventually turns back towards the horizon.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Did I wake you?” Primrose asks and H’aanit shakes her head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I wokest of my own accord. I expect the others will be awake soon as well.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Primrose nods, her eyes distant. “And are you all leaving for Stillsnow?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“‘Tis only I amongst us who hast business in Stillsnow. The others have business elsewhere. Quarrycrest, Saintsbridge, Bolderfall, Victor’s Hollow.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Primrose raises her brows as she turns to H’aanit. “And you’ve all been through half the continent already?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>H’aanit chuckles. “Some of us, mineself included. When we reachen the Woodlands, I will have circled the entire continent.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Primrose makes an impressed hum. “I have to ask,” she says after a considerable pause, “What brought you out of the Woodlands and all over Orsterra?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I could asken the same of thee,” H’aanit responds and Primrose stiffens. “What business dost a dancer of Sunshade have outside of the Sunlands?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Primrose doesn’t answer immediately, her eyes locked on the endless landscape of sand and stone stretching out beyond Sunshade. “I asked you first,” she says and her tone has become less good-natured and more interrogative.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>H’aanit chuckles. “I suppose thou hast. There is...someone I must saveth. He hast been turned to stone by a beast called Redeye and I must doen all that I canst to return him to himself.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is he important to you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>H’aanit nods. “Yes. He is...like a father to me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Something like understanding over Primrose’s face. “Then we are more alike than I thought.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>H’aanit blinks. “Aren we?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Primrose nods. “My own father--” She stops and her expression becomes guarded before she looks away, the emotion in her voice now more subdued as she continues, “My own father was taken away from me when I was only a child. Since then, I’ve been...seeking justice for what was done to him.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>H’aanit’s eyes track the movement of her hand, watching silently as it reaches for the dagger at her hip, fingers closing around the hilt and staying there for a while. And H’aanit remembers the fluid motion of that hand as it slit Helgenish’s throat, the glint of the dagger’s blade in the sun as it was pulled out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I see,” H’aanit says. “And this justice thou seekest lies in Stillsnow?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Part of it,” Primrose replies. “In truth, I’m not certain where the pursuit of justice will take me, but it’s something that I have to see through to the end no matter what.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>H’aanit nods and stares down at the streets below the balcony, as the townsfolk of Sunshade prepare for another day. “Thou hast conviction,” she tells Primrose, “and I admire that in thee. Not many canst sayeth that they wouldst journey beyond their own home for the sake of justice. Thou hast strength indeed.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Primrose gives a wry smile. “It’s not strength more so than faith.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Faith?” H’aanit looks up at her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Primrose nods and her voice changes, reverent and steady, as she says, “Faith shall be my shield.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>H’aanit stares at her, long and hard, at the way the light of the rising sun turns her skin golden and lights her hair on fire, at the way she lifts her chin and keeps her eyes on a distant horizon. H’aanit gazes at the vision of beauty and strength and faith before her and she feels the hairs on her arm raise on end and her chest constrict with an unexpected feeling as Primrose leans against the balcony’s stone railing and turns her head to meet H’aanit’s eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her face burning, H’aanit looks away and she swears she hears Primrose giggle under her breath. They lapse into silence, more comfortable than the one in their room last night, as they watch Sunshade wake in the full light of the sun, and it’s not long before their own companions wake up with the rest of the city.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tressa and Ophilia catch them at the balcony on their way downstairs, both packed and ready for the journey, and they assure them that they’ll leave a space for them at breakfast as H’aanit and Primrose return to their room to pack and freshen up. It doesn’t take long for H’aanit to pack up her things and Primrose has only to change into the dress that H’aanit had picked out for her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s a bit shorter than H’aanit had expected but Primrose doesn’t seem to mind. It does at least hide her dagger a lot better than her dancer’s garb had. Primrose seems to hesitate for a moment, her dancer’s garb in her arms, before she shakes her head and takes it with her, following H’aanit outside of their room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I canst keepen that in mine pack if thou wishes,” H’aanit offers and Primrose blinks up at her in surprise. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, no, I couldn’t ask that of you--” Primrose says before she is interrupted by H’aanit scooping the clothes out of her arms and placing them inside her bag.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can also makest a bag of thine own whence I have the time,” H’aanit says, this time with a smile.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I--” Primrose begins before she stops herself and sighs. “Do what you will.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Everyone has gathered at the breakfast table by the time H’aanit and Primrose arrive. They walk in just as Tressa is regaling the others with the story of how Primrose beat Helgenish, making sure to pepper in as many insults to Helgenish’s name as she can.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And then, Primrose went all ‘whoosh!’ and that slimy red-nosed rat was just spewing blood everywhere like vomit! Couldn’t even get a single word out of that filthy yellow-toothed mouth of his!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ophilia smiles weakly at the imagery. “That’s certainly one way to put it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Primrose is more reticent than usual as she is introduced to the other members of their party. The way she eyes up the men as they introduce themselves is devoid of all the simpering looks she gave them at the tavern yesterday. She maintains a distance as they shake her hand and she lets go before it can last for more than a second. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To their credit, the men don’t let it linger. Alfyn keeps it at a light congenial squeeze and a friendly grin while Cyrus keeps it proper and polite, mirroring his noble upbringing and managing not to overwhelm Primrose with his usual long-winded information dump of an introduction. Olberic gives one firm shake before quickly stepping back and Therion foregoes the handshake altogether, simply nodding his head at her in acknowledgement once and saying nothing else besides his name.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And then they’re on the road out of Sunshade before they even know it, finishing their breakfast quickly and checking out of the inn afterwards.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Primrose lags towards the back of their group, an ever-present distance between her and the other travelers. H’aanit is unsure if anyone else but them recognizes it but they soon pass the spot where they had buried Yusufa, though the sands do their best to obscure the cairn from view. Yet H’aanit catches sight of it nonetheless, a small stone structure just barely visible among the cliffs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And Primrose sees it as well because she stops and gazes towards it for a long moment. H’aanit is the only one who notices and she and Linde stop as well, waiting for Primrose to finish saying her silent final goodbyes. As Primrose turns and begins walking again, she starts in surprise when she sees H’aanit waiting for her but H’aanit only nods and turns to continue their trek. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wilst thou misseth Sunshade?” she asks when Primrose catches up to her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s funny,” Primrose says, “I never thought that I’d miss it when I finally leave. But now, I guess, some part of me will miss it, in some twisted sort of way.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>H’aanit nods, understanding. “‘Tis a complicated feeling. But thou needest not dwell on it for longer than thou wouldst likest.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You…” Primrose begins before her voice trails off. Beside her, Linde brushes up against her leg once more and Primrose manages a small smile as she reaches down and indulges the leopard, giving her the head pats she had wanted. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You are all so odd,” she finally finishes and H’aanit has to laugh at the suddenness of the admission. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I cannot denyest that,” H’aanit says.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We have barely known each other for more than a day,” Primrose says, “and already, you will have me travel with all of you? Me, a lowly dancer and now a murderer.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The temperature seems to drop around them and when H’aanit faces Primrose, the dancer refuses to meet her eyes, choosing instead to look down at Linde.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Whatever thou may be,” H’aanit says in a low voice, “thou hast nothing to prove. Thou art one of us now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you sure you can trust me so easily?” Primrose asks and her gaze is wary as she waits for the inevitable disappointment, a slap to her cheek, a blow that she is certain is coming. “You’ve seen what I can do. The kind of trouble I bring with me.” She pauses, one hand wringing the front of her dress. “I wouldn’t want any of you to get tangled up into all this bloody business, like...”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Like Yusufa</span>
  </em>
  <span>, H’aanit finishes her sentence for her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And yet, thou art still here with us. And we art with thee no matter what trouble thou claimest to bringeth with thee.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why?” Primrose asks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>H’aanit smiles. “Callest it faith, if thou truly wishes for a reason.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, Primrose!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tressa comes backtracking towards them, skipping over the sand as if it were nothing. “Can you teach me that trick with your dagger? Therion’s a stinky prude who won’t show me how it’s done.” She sticks her tongue out towards the thief who simply raises an arm and flips her off without turning around to look.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Primrose looks uncertain to say the least, rendered speechless in the face of Tressa’s enthusiasm, but she nods and takes her dagger out to show her, spinning it with a flick of her wrist and catching it by the hilt afterwards, much to Tressa’s delight.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Um, Miss Primrose?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ophilia appears at Primrose’s other side, smiling shyly. “I was quite entranced by your dance yesterday. I couldn’t tell you then before you left, and well, what I’m trying to say is, would you mind ever so terribly if you would show it to me again some time?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Primrose blinks. “Um, sure, if that would please you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh it would please me greatly!” Ophilia says a little too happily. She blushes and looks away, embarrassed. “Ah but you must get requests like that often, being a dancer of your calibre.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Primrose scoffs softly, almost a laugh, and smiles. “I don’t mind at all. And please, you can just call me Primrose.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Primrose,” Ophilia repeats and her expression softens. “You have such a lovely name. It certainly suits one as lovely as you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For the first time since they met her, Primrose actually blushes, and H’aanit is amused to find that out of all the bold compliments she receives from audience members after every performance, it is this simple yet sincere comment from Ophilia that gets Primrose to blush like a young girl. “I-- Well, thank you, Ophilia. You as well.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Enough about that!” Tressa pipes up. “Show me that trick again! But slower this time so I can see how it works!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Primrose chuckles. “There’s really no trick. It’s just practice.” She does said trick again and Tressa follows it with eager eyes, not even blinking once throughout the whole thing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah, again!” Tressa insists. “I missed it!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>H’aanit smiles to herself as she watches the tension leave Primrose’s shoulders, as she eases into light conversation with Tressa and Ophilia, the wary strength in her gaze turning into something much more relaxed, as she finally lets herself do nothing but simply be.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And then H’aanit hears the sound of Primrose’s bright musical laughter, floating above their little group, and it lodges itself into her heart like an arrow struck true, and it stays there as a brilliant sun-colored memory, filling her with a strange new warmth and energy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And she thinks, perhaps strength can be drawn from the simplest of things as well, like the beautiful, genuine sound of laughter on a hot Sunlands day.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>follow me on <a href="https://twitter.com/kalihimpan">twitter</a> if you wanna see more of my writing and updates on that alfion series i'm workin on!</p>
<p>thanks for reading!! as always, kudos and comments are greatly appreciated and go a long way in helping me to finish my fics</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>